Words Can Heal
by Yva J
Summary: When Willy Wonka encounters homeless teenager, Jasmine Hudson, something positive happens that changes both of them for the better.


_Hello and welcome to this very long one shot story. I chose to write it for a number of reasons. Number one, it's kind of written in opposition to two things I don't like in CatCF fan fiction. 1. the Mary Sue phenomena and 2. the chan fiction where adults have relationships with kids. I'm sorry, but there's something very unsettling about that kind of premise. Perhaps it's my being a stuffy adult, who knows?_

_I present a story about a homeless teenage girl named Jasmine Hudson who is 1. a teenage protagonist who I hope is realistic enough to not be considered a Mary Sue and 2. a character who does not get involved with Willy Wonka in a romantic way, but who does meet our favorite chocolatier. As a teenager I always viewed Wilder's portrayal of Willy Wonka as a sort of paternal figure and not as a romantic crush, so this is going a bit along those same lines. This story is, in my opinion a realistic friendship that could take place between an adult and a teenager, so if you're looking for the chan elements, then go elsewhere._

_Although it is a Wilder Wonka story (as most of mine are), I do hope that people will take the time to read and review this particular story. It isn't that I am trying to overtly 'denounce' anyone's stories here, but I do want to give a shout out and say that there are actually writers who do not like to read or write certain elements in stories._

_Enjoy and please review. Edited on Jaunary 24...and judging from the review numbers, stories of a teenage / adult friendship are not exactly well received here...Oh well..._

* * *

**Words Can Heal**

By: Yva J.

The stars sparkled above the city, the sounds of music filling the air. This meant that on clear nights such as this, the temperature was expected to sink below freezing. Of course with it being the middle of January, that was usually the case.

From within the confines of his home, Willy Wonka was able to look through a concealed window to the outside world. For all practical purposes, he was a recluse, living in the solitude of the factory with Charlie Bucket as his only contact to the outside world. This, however, did not stop the rumors from spreading about him. They seemed to drift through the city like snowflakes falling on Christmas morning.

People spoke almost constantly about the reclusive chocolatier, but no one had ever confessed to having seen him. In fact, it was unknown where he spent his days, or what he did when not creating confectionary masterpieces.

What most did not know was that periodically, he did emerge from the factory. In fact, he was often among the people without even their awareness of his presence being known. Yes, he sometimes stopped and spoke to people, but it was very rare for him to exchange more than simple 'hello' or 'good day' with them.

Generally, when he did this, the people never discovered with whom they had been interacting. Willy Wonka seemed to emanate that overwhelming sense of secrecy that he was so known for. His presence somehow seemed confined to shadows and darkened streets.

On one particular night, however, he would cross paths with someone who would become more than just a face in the crowd. Her name was Jasmine Hudson, she was sixteen and without even realizing it, she would leave a positive impact on the reclusive candy maker. What had once been rumors that filled the hollowness of the child's spirit would be confirmed as reality.

* * *

Jasmine was fourteen the day she left home to go out into the wide world. She had lived on the streets of her hometown for a time only making her way to London with a knapsack, an old tape recorder, and a picture of the family she had left behind. Today, her life consisted of cold drafty alleyways, scraping by for food, trying to live for the moment, and the brightest spot of her existence; her music.

She joined up with a group of homeless teens and they became a family, their life stories paralleled to that of a television drama. The streets were filled with drug abuse, illness and death, three things that Jasmine had worked with all her might to avoid. There was no denying that it had affected her, particularly when all the other teenagers in her 'family' had taken ill and passed on, thus leaving her all alone.

It was a desolate life, one that granted her very little trust, and yet, there was something that she preferred over moving back home. That would have resulted in her being a burden to a mother who was too poor to take care of her. It was either that, or live as a stand-in babysitter to a infant brother who was nothing more than a stranger to her. Yes, she loved them, but her pride prevented her from going back.

There was no question that she needed help; the streets were filled with homeless people, many of whom were territorial in nature. If she had so much as tried to occupy their turf, then her days would have most certainly been numbered. Life on the streets had come to mean an almost constant exposure to violence.

The endless nights of going to bed hungry in freezing cold temperatures was starting to take its toll, not only on her physical wellness, but also on her psyche.

On this particular night, Jasmine slowly made her way along the city streets. She knew that she would have to do much more than sit on the ground sorrowfully waiting for a handout. In fact, her own inbred realism said that the chances of someone coming along, taking pity on, and helping her were rather remote.

The people who walked the streets had often told her that she should at least do something, even if it was something minimal like playing a comb and wax paper. Instead of doing that, she decided that all that was left for her to do was to sing. Music was her passion, and deep down inside, she hoped that if people saw that she was actually doing something they might be more accepting of her plight and not so judgmental. Perhaps they would discover that deep down inside, she possessed a hidden talent.

It was dark by the time she reached the main thoroughfare. She stopped walking and started to dig around inside her knapsack. There was very little there, a change of clothes, as well as the beat up old tape recorder that had once belonged to her father. She removed it as well as a small basket. Nervously, she placed the basket on the ground before looking around and turning on the machine. As the swells of music began to fill the area, she began to sing along with the accompanying music.

What happened next took the teenager by surprise. A heavyset woman with a rolling pin appeared in a doorway, her gray eyes cold and stern as she came towards where Jasmine stood. "Get the hell out of here, you vagrant!" The woman shouted. Several heads turned and Jasmine grabbed her belongings and backed away, her eyes widening in fright.

"Oh why not let her sing, Margie?" One of the men called out from the other doorway. "You don't chase after the dogs who bay at the moon now do you?"

"She ain't no dog, Milt, she's a drifter, and she has no place here," the woman said as she started towards Jasmine, her rolling pin readied.

Instead of speaking, Jasmine quickly collected her belongings and backed away from the menacing woman before making her way down the street. She only slowed her pace when she knew that she was safely away from the woman as well as her friends.

It was more than clear to the girl; the proprietors did not want a homeless person hanging around their businesses. They were just as bad as the territorial ones, Jasmine concluded. Instead of trying to understand her, they were just cruel and heartless.

With her tape recorder still in her hand, she eventually found herself running as fast as she could away from the shopping streets of inner city London. Perhaps this was not such a good idea, but as her stomach grumbled, she could feel the desperation swallowing her up. She had to get something to eat and find warmth or she just might not live until morning. The thought of dying alone on the street made unshed tears sting her eyes.

I can't give up, she thought sadly as she reached a large iron gate that was situated at the end of a busy street. She had only been in this segment of town once, and that was soon after she had arrived there. The gate extended along the street, thus separating her from a large courtyard. Instead of trying to orient herself to these new surroundings, she allowed her body to sink to the ground. As her head lowered, her hands came to rest against her now fevered face.

You can't get sick, she practically willed herself; you can't end up like Sherman. The boy who had been the closest thing to a boyfriend to her had died after succumbing to pneumonia. She felt somewhat dizzy, but instead of focusing on her ill health, she tried to distract herself by singing a few bars of her favorite song.

As these simple words emerged, she placed the tape recorder on the ground and began to fiddle about with it. Suppressing the 'play' button, the song that she had been singing in the city center emerged and for several seconds she listened before she started to sing. The trembling sound of her voice filled her ears as she wrapped her arms around herself. The basket that she carried was cast to one side while the knapsack, she kept securely on her lap.

Jasmine continued to softly sing, and somehow, through that act alone, she was discovering that she was singing because she loved it. The simple act brought her solace in a world filled with coldness. Music was the only thing that could divert her focus from her pain and soon the fever and the grumbling stomach were not at the forefront of her contemplations.

Seconds later, another person approached and upon hearing his footsteps, she slowly raised her head and stared up at him. All that she could make out was that it was a man, his tall stature looming over her. Unconsciously, she backed away as he came closer and the shadows gave way to reveal that he was dressed in a suit and tie. A scowl lined his chiseled face as he regarded her with disdain.

"Why don't you just go home, kid?" He asked, as the frown melted away to reveal a sadistic smirk. He came closer and with the toe of his shoe, he kicked the tape recorder over and feigned astonishment when the music abruptly stopped.

Jasmine stared at the fallen object with shock and heartbreak crossing her face. Up until that moment, she had managed to keep the player in working order through haphazard repair jobs. Now, it looked as though her attempts had been for naught. The object was fragile, but she had never experienced anyone kicking any of her things, instead they opted to kicking her.

At that moment, this was what she preferred, although she would never consider vocalizing it. She raised her head and looked up at him. He seemed to be flawless, not a hair out of place, his suit pristine and perfect. She cast a wary glance down at herself and could tell that the ratty clothing she wore was nothing in comparison.

Ignoring this, the man began to laugh. "That's better," he said as he turned away. "No one wants to pay to hear you sing, kid. They would probably offer you something just to get you to shut your trap."

Before she could respond, a stranger's voice suddenly emerged, the soothing cadence of a tenor voice now filling her ears. "You should not destroy another person's property just because you may not like their singing. I, for one, would always prefer to hear her singing over your hateful comments."

Upon hearing this Jasmine raised her head to see that a second man approached. He stood concealed in the shadows, but she could tell that he was tall. His stature seemed to block the light that was cast by a nearby streetlamp. Regardless of that, Jasmine could not help but feel a sense of warmth that emanated the man's words.

Instead of responding to this, the arrogant man backed away from them, thus leaving Jasmine in the company of a stranger whose face she had yet to see. Licking her lips, she watched as the man reached down and picked up the fallen tape recorder. "Please don't take it away, Mister," she pleaded.

"I won't," the man said as he got down on the ground next to her before trying to press several of the buttons in the hope of putting some sort of life back into it. He eventually shook his head with resigned defeat. "I'm afraid I'm not much of an electronics specialist, but it would seem this one is now beyond any sort of hope."

"It was my father's," she whispered.

"Where is your father?" He asked.

"He's dead, he died when I was five," she responded, her voice much softer than even she anticipated.

Instead of dwelling on this, she started to take in his appearance. Now that he was in the light, she could see that he was not only tall, but that he seemed to be swallowed up in a long dark colored trench coat. From what she could see, his face looked as though it belonged on the cover of a magazine. He had smooth features and a gentle smile that stretched across it. Curly blondish brown hair seemed to frame it, thus making him look like an oversized cherub.

In one hand, he held a cane, which he had laid to one side in order to look at Jasmine's broken tape recorder. As soon as the object was disregarded, his hand once more slipped around the handle of the long, skinny object. This gave him an air of sophistication, which intimidated her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop him from doing that," he offered. "It would seem from looking at the recorder that it was as close to death as anything could possibly get."

"I can relate," she whispered, her thoughts abruptly shifting from his appearance back to her own desolate state. A slight shiver cursed through her, which she hoped he would not detect. His next words seemed to indicate that he did not.

"My dear girl, what sort of talk is that?" He asked; his voice filled with shock and surprise.

"It's realistic talk," she responded, her head lowering. "With this thing broken, there's no way I can earn anything. As you saw just now, people are generally not very kind."

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps there are some good and caring people out there, you just have to look in the right places to find them." He paused before continuing. "Listen, there are times when people are cruel to others and based on my experiences, it is because they don't know how to be kind. That man probably never had someone come up to him and tell him that he mattered, much less gave him a hug."

"It's hard for me to be that objective when I'm on the receiving end of his cruel words and actions," she said as she cast a brief glance down at the broken tape player.

"Perhaps you're right," he conceded.

"I just don't know what I'm going to do now." As if on cue, her stomach began to grumble and she rested her hand over it, all the while hoping that this simple action would conceal the sounds.

"How old are you?" He asked.

"Sixteen," she whispered.

"And you're out here all by yourself in this state trying to earn your keep. You're not really a child but you're not a grown up either. It would seem to me that you are stuck somewhere in the middle." As his words emerged, she watched as he inched his way out of the trench coat and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. She started to object, but he held up his hands and shook his head, thus indicating that she keep it. "Is that better?"

Jasmine nodded, her cold body somehow betraying her.

This, if anything, gave him the leeway to continue speaking. "Now then, I know that we are strangers, but I intend to give you exactly what you need; and that is a warm bed and some good food."

"But, y-you don't even know me, and…" her voice trailed. It was blatantly clear that the man's trench coat was helping to keep her warm. All that she knew was that at that moment, she was not yet ready to relinquish it.

"I know enough," he said, his voice emerging with a strange mixture of smugness and confidence. She watched as he got to his feet before offering a gloved hand down to her. When she did not react to this, he spoke, this time his voice filled with kindness. "Take my hand, we're going some place warm and dry."

Swallowing, she extended her hand to him and let him help her to stand.

Next, they collected her belongings and returned them to the knapsack. He then offered her his arm and watched as she hesitantly accepted. Once her small hand was wound around his elbow, they started to make their way along the perimeters of the large complex.

As they walked, she continued to take in his physical attributes. He was much taller than she, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder. He seemed to have an energy that drew her in without her even knowing or questioning why. His eyes, when the light would shine down from the streetlamp, revealed a merry shade of blue.

Without trying to stare for an extended period of time, she found her gaze shifting periodically so as to not make it seem so noticeable. She had no idea where they were going, but he seemed consumed in keeping this information to himself. This made her nervous and eventually she addressed that nervousness.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

They walked several meters in silence until he stopped, turned, and began to address her question. "I'm taking you somewhere where you can get cleaned up and get something to eat." No further words emerged from him.

She simply nodded, not wishing to argue. It was clear that she was still unwell, the persisting fever encompassing her. Jasmine began to rub her face with her free hand, all the while trying to ignore the fact that she was running out of energy. Before she could even try to rationalize what was happening, she felt her body starting to give out and she began to sink to the ground.

Without warning, a gloved pair of hands caught her. "I've got you, I won't let you fall," the simple words emerged. She swallowed as she raised her head to see that he was now standing directly in front of her and looking down at her. At that instant, she recognized that his eyes were laced with a fatherly sort of concern.

Wordlessly, he shoved the cane under one of his arms before reaching over and capturing her chin in both of his hands. When she tried to back away from him, he continued speaking; his words making her unconsciously relax. "You're burning up," he said as he released his hold, his voice emerging in an exhalation of breath. "You really are sick."

Was this element of caring real or was it an act? She asked herself as she felt his arm wrapping gently around her shoulder. She had seen kids on the streets hurt by strangers, and she was not keen on becoming another crime statistic. Regardless of her conflicting thoughts, there was something deep inside of her that said his concern was authentic.

"No, I'm alright," she began to object.

The man shook his head and spoke, his voice unwavering. "You're not alright, your face is so feverish that I could feel it through these gloves," he said. "I know that perhaps you're afraid of me, but please let me help you. I have no intention of doing anything to hurt you, but if you stay out here, you will probably be dead by morning." He paused as his next words emerged. "Please, I only wish to lend a hand."

She raised her head, the words raking havoc on her mind. Was this man psychic? Could he read her mind and tell precisely what it was that she was most afraid of? To Jasmine, this situation reminded her of a dog who could read 'fear' from a mile away.

Instead of elaborating on that, he continued speaking. "I know of the advice that people offer about children going off with strangers," he began, the sturdiness of his arm still keeping her on her feet. "And yes, they are right, but you are malnourished, cold, and ill, and I can assure you that you are completely safe in my company."

"W-who are you?" She eventually spoke. It felt strange that they had spoken for this duration of time but neither knew the other's name. It was abundantly clear that this stranger seemed to be saying all the right things. This left her feeling somewhat relaxed, but still her logic felt unsettled. What if this was a trick?

"I'm not really sure you would believe me if I were to tell you," he said.

Upon hearing this, Jasmine knew that although she had yet to hear his name, she wanted to trust him. Deep down inside, she sensed that he had been right and it was imperative for her to trust someone. He knew that she was not well, and being in such a state rendered her unable to argue. Instead, she allowed him to lead her on.

Moments passed into minutes when she suddenly heard him speaking, his voice soft and his words controlled. "I'll make a deal with you. If you tell me your name, then I will tell you mine."

"It's Jasmine," she said without so much as hesitating.

"Ah like the flower, with the sweet scent and capable of curing certain ailments," he said with a casual nod of his head. "Seems very fitting."

She looked up at him. "You make it sound much nicer than it is."

"Well, it is quite a lovely name," he said smiling.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "Will you tell me yours?"

The man smiled, a playful glint now evident in his eyes. "I'm going to let you guess."

"But, I told you mine and I thought that was part of the deal," she said. "It's your turn to tell me yours."

He nodded. "Very well, but you must keep in mind that what I tell you may not be believed, but it is the truth."

"Is this like a riddle?" She asked weakly, but started to back away from him, her nervousness getting the better of her.

He grasped her hand before beginning to speak. He did not want her to run away before she could hear his words. "Maybe it is rather like a riddle, but I can assure you that I would never hurt you. Although I may seem rather strange, you can trust that I speak the truth." Once these words had emerged, his hold loosened.

She nodded, but seconds of silence passed until his next question emerged. "What can you tell me about that place back there?" He waved his hand, thus indicating the large area near where they were now standing.

Jasmine turned around and looked. For the first time since arriving, she was able to see where specifically they were standing. Although they had walked several hundred meters, she could still see that rising behind them was Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. This was the place, which she had heard countless stories and rumors about ever since her arrival in London. Yet, she did not know what to say about it. To her, it seemed like something straight out of a dream.

Finally, she found her voice and spoke, the three words emerging from between her lips. "I don't know." Then as an afterthought, she mumbled two more words. "It's huge."

"Yes, it's quite huge," he said as a soft chuckle emerged. Seconds later, the sounds of amusement were replaced by words. "What else do you think about when you look at it?"

Jasmine raised her hand and touched one of the iron bars that were now directly in front of them. "Everyone says that the man who lives there can spin magic like Rumpelstiltskin can turn straw into gold," she admitted.

"It makes you think of something remotely like a fairy tale," he said. "Is that it?"

"I don't mean real magic like in stories and movies," she began. "I just mean that there's this strange feeling of magic that surrounds the factory. It's something mysterious and yet…it seems almost lonely and isolated from the rest of the world. Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Wonka is trapped in his own self-created wonderland."

The man's eyes widened slightly upon hearing these words, but he abruptly looked away for a split second. With his gaze elsewhere, his next question emerged. "You don't think he comes outside at all?"

Jasmine shook her head. "I don't think so," she shivered.

The man smiled and nodded. "Perhaps I can change your mind about that."

"How?" She asked.

"Well," he rubbed his finger over his mouth, the tip of it tracing along the outline of his lips. "Jasmine, look at me and tell me something. Do I look as though I am trapped in a 'self-created wonderland'?"

She turned around. "No, but…" her voice trailed as she looked at him, all the while, waiting for a trace of deception or deceit. When neither appeared and instead, he nodded and smiled, she bit down on her lower lip before finding her voice and speaking. "A-are you saying that y-you're Willy Wonka?"

He nodded and watched as her eyes widened. She slowly backed away from him and would have surely fallen over had he had not reached out and steadied her on her feet. Pleasant surprise was one of Willy's favorite emotions and she was most certainly not disappointing him in that regard. "You have no reason to be afraid, Jasmine."

"I'm not, I-I just don't believe it," she whispered. It seemed clear to him that she was still frightened contrary to her words affirming the contrary. "I mean; you are here and actually talking to a nobody like me."

"My dear girl, you're not a 'nobody', you are a kind-hearted girl who has a talent for music. I simply listened to you before I came over to say 'hello'," he explained, his voice soft. "You see, you never really know who could be listening when you begin to sing. Just don't make the crucial mistake of believing the cruel words of other people. It could be the worst mistake you could ever make."

Jasmine lowered her heard. "Y-you heard me sing?"

"Yes," he said and noticing her embarrassment and surprise, he continued. "Jasmine, I do see and hear a lot of things, people just don't realize that I am around more often then they think."

The teenager nodded, her head lowering and her eyes closing. She started to sink to the ground once again, her knees completely giving out. She had no idea why it was this was happening. Before she could even speak, she suddenly felt the handle of his cane being shoved into her hand. "The end of the cane is lodged between the stones, so you can lean up against it," he said.

Nodding, she felt her weight shifting until she was leaning fully against the cane. Without saying anything else, Willy picked her up off the ground. "It would seem to me that you're much sicker than you would have wished me to believe," he said matter-of-factly.

From his hold, Jasmine's left hand was still holding the cane while her right held tightly to the knapsack, which was now rested against her abdomen. Wordlessly, Willy began to walk back in the direction of the factory gates.

As he walked, she slowly raised her head and could see his determined face from where she lay in his arms. "What's happening to me?" She murmured softly.

"I don't know, but if I have anything to say about it, you're not staying out here a minute longer," Willy said firmly. "Keep your hand on the cane, though, I would rather not lose it."

"I will," she nodded but allowed herself to completely relax in his arms. As she closed her eyes, Willy smiled as he managed to fish the key to the gate out of the side pocket of his waistcoat. Once he had managed this, he stuck the key into the large lock and turned it.

Jasmine suddenly heard the lock clicking open and the chocolatier stepping into the courtyard. As soon as they were inside, the cane slipped from her hand and hit the ground.

Willy stopped momentarily, turned, closed, and relocked the gate. Carefully, he leaned over and with Jasmine still in his arms, he retrieved the cane before walking towards the door that would lead them inside.

Reaching the second door, he managed to open it before bringing her into the building, the door closing firmly behind them.

* * *

When Jasmine opened her eyes again, she found herself lying on a soft bed. She looked down at her mode of dress and swallowed. It frightened her to think of what could have happened and how she could have had the shabby clothing replaced by a set of red flannel pajamas. The clothing was warm and soft, and although it felt better than what she had been clothed in, she wondered how this could possibly have come about.

Her gaze shifted from her clothing to where she was. The bed was large, the blankets and sheets an emerald green color, immediately reminding her of the Emerald City in the 'Wizard of Oz'. Everything seemed to be green in color, thus making her feel as though she was in a forest. Indirect lighting was all around the room, the lights shining against the decorations, thus making it look as though the trees were covered with twinkling Christmas lights. It was not colorful light, but instead, seemed to dance across the room, thus giving off a prism effect.

She sat up and tried to make out where she was, her meeting with the chocolatier outside the gates seemed more or less a vague or faded memory.

Slowly, she crawled off the bed and started to walk across the room, her eyes trying to take in everything at once, which had proven to be quite difficult. She was so interested in the room that she did not hear the door open until a voice emerged.

"You really should be in bed," Willy said his words filling her ears, thus causing her to jump. Seeing this, he spoke again. "I'm sorry, Jasmine, I didn't mean to scare you."

She turned around and could see that he was standing in the doorway, a tray being held in both of his hands. It looked as though the chocolatier had brought her the food as he had promised when they were outside.

Instead of responding to these words, she nervously glanced down at her clothing and then back up at him, a question looming.

"Charlie's mother assisted you with the clothing after we arrived," he said smiling reassuringly. "She's very good at taking care of people. You see; she looks after her parents, her in-laws, her son, and sometimes even me. She helped in the capacity that I am, as they say, ill equipped for. She got you cleaned up and dressed for bed."

"I…" her voice trailed.

"It's alright, I understand your worries, you're a young lady, and I'm an old man, right?" He said with a wink. "You need the assistance of another lady, which as luck would have, was nearby."

Upon hearing these words, she relaxed considerably. "You're the most honest person I ever met," she said.

"You've perhaps had a very poor sampling of what honesty is. The streets are not a place for that," he said. "Oh well, while Clara was seeing to your needs, I was tending to the soup." The smile remained on his face as he walked across the room and seated himself the table that was situated in the far corner of the room. "Come, its time for you to eat something substantial and then you can go back to sleep."

"How long did I sleep?" She asked.

"It's been about an hour since we got here, but you're sick, and your body craves sleep, which is probably why you fell asleep in my arms outside," he said.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I mean for not making me sleep on the ground outside."

"You're very welcome, now I want you to eat this, it's made with home grown vegetables and it should help you to feel a lot better," he said.

"Mr. Wonka…" she raised her head, the unasked question looming in the air.

"I brought you into the factory, Jasmine, and I'm going to let you stay for a while. I'm not the kind of person who would let you come here for a night and then cast you back out."

Jasmine stared down at the soup, the pleasant smelling fragrance wafting up and enticing her. After several seconds, she raised her head, the soup momentarily forgotten. "Y-you wouldn't?"

"No," he said. "Now, you really should eat that, or else I'm going to start thinking that my cooking perhaps leaves a lot to be desired."

Jasmine smiled, but picked up the spoon and brought it to her mouth. As she tasted the hot liquid, she swallowed as the warm substance cursed its way through her body. "It's wonderful."

Willy smiled and nodded. "Then you can finish that and I'm certain that you'll feel better once you've eaten it."

Jasmine did not have to be told twice, she began to hungrily eat the soup.

Willy watched as the bowl was quickly emptied and once it was, he looked across the table at her.

Once she had lowered the spoon for the last time, she raised her head from the empty bowl. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," he said, but before speaking again, he rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. "Jasmine, why don't you tell me about your family and where you come from?"

"There isn't much to tell, my mother and baby brother live in Nottingham, but I haven't seen them in a really long time," she said honestly. "Mum couldn't afford to take care of me and my brother both, so I left. I figured that she would be better off without me. I also overheard her telling a friend that I had become a burden to her."

"A burden?" He asked.

"Yeah, she went on to say that I was too young to work and too old to depend on her," she said. "I loved her, but I was so hurt."

"That's understandable," he said with a slow nod. "Do you feel any better now?"

"I'm still a little tired," she smiled weakly. "I-I didn't expect any of this to happen."

"That's why pleasant surprises are always my favorites, because they aren't expected, they are just accepted to be what they are," he said smiling. He reached across the table and took her hand gently in his and squeezed it comfortingly. "Now, I must insist that you get some rest." With his hand still holding hers, he got to his feet and helped her up.

"Why do you do so much for me?" She whispered.

"Because, as Felix Adler once said, 'to care for anyone else enough to make their problems one's own, is ever the beginning of one's real ethical development'." He motioned towards the bed. "Now, let's get you tucked in so you can get some sleep."

"What's going to happen to me?" She asked as she walked slowly over and crawled beneath the covers.

Willy smiled as he carefully tucked her in and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Nothing is going to happen that you don't want," he said simply. "One thing I can assure you of is that you're going to get better now that you're in a warm and comfortable place. Once you're all better, then we'll see about finding you a place where you can stay and live the life that was intended for you. You see, my dear, life on the streets is not what was intended, and I think you know that."

Upon hearing his words, she nodded and allowed her body to sink back against the pillows. "I always believed that it was the only option I ever had…"

"…It's not," he interrupted. "Sometimes, we think that it is the only option, but Jasmine, it's not and no matter what happens you're not alone. Not as long as there's a person who understands how you feel."

"You make it sound easy," she said. "But, who could possibly understand me?"

"I could," he said. "I have had my challenges in life as well."

"You have?" She asked. "Is that why you're helping me?"

He nodded. "Yes, you see, when I was about fifteen, I was on my own as well and I had some friends help me out so that I wouldn't end up on the streets myself." Instead of elaborating further, he started to get up.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked.

"I may not answer," he smirked, but did not stand up. "There are some things that I cannot tell you."

"I was just wondering if you had kids," her words emerged as she began to fiddle with the edge of the blanket that covered her. "I don't mean to intrude, but it's just that you're a lot nicer then everyone kept saying."

"I would definitely hope that I am nicer than the media has portrayed," he said smiling. "Sometimes the things that people say about me are not very nice at all, but to answer your question, no, I don't have any children. For a very long time, the only thing I really knew about children was that they liked my candy. After meeting Charlie and his family, I started to learn about what it was like having children around. I discovered this only because of the Golden Ticket contest."

"I remember hearing about it," Jasmine said. "I wanted to buy some candy when the news broke, but I couldn't."

"You couldn't?" He asked. "You mean you didn't even have the money for candy?"

"No, not just that," she confessed softly. "Even if I wanted to take part, I couldn't, because I'm allergic to chocolate."

The chocolatier looked at her, the surprise evident on his face. This was an answer that he obviously did not expect. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She asked a small smile gracing her face. "I mean; there's plenty of other candy besides chocolate, isn't there?"

"Perhaps," he said with a bemused expression on his face. "I suppose I should have considered that before I went and sent out the Golden Tickets."

"You didn't want anyone to feel left out, did you?" She asked with a yawn.

"No, I didn't," he smiled as he shook his head. "Now, I think its time for you to get some rest. We can talk some more later."

Jasmine nodded and allowed her body to sink back against the pillows.

Before Willy could get up and leave the room, he noticed that she was instantly asleep. "Sweet dreams, Jasmine," he whispered as he brushed a gentle hand through her hair and quietly left the room.

* * *

The days that followed Jasmine's impromptu visit to the factory proved to be very special for both she and the reclusive chocolatier. The teenager was given a tour, which was consumed with lots of questions. Willy discovered through her inquiries that she was not interested in the secrets of the factory, but instead, wanted to know what he did when he got inspired to make something new.

She carried with her a small notebook, where she kept her poetry and other contemplations recorded. The candy maker never saw her with it while they explored the Inventing Room or some of the more secret places in the factory. Instead, he would find her writing in it while sitting in the Chocolate Room on a path that ran adjacent to the river.

Jasmine had found inspiration in his factory, and Willy knew that although she was fragile, her thoughts and words were unbreakable. It somehow surprised him that she never once asked questions that extended beyond his source of inspiration. She wanted to find something that made her life somehow parallel with his.

On the day of her scheduled departure, Jasmine slowly crawled out of bed and looked around the room that she had spent more time in than she could consciously recall.

She padded her way across the room, the softness of the carpeting cushioning her feet. A smile crossed her face as she recalled how Willy had given her an affirmation that he intended to help her. With this promise locked tightly in her mind, he purchased her a ticket on the train that would whisk her out of London and back to her mother's home.

Although she was ready to see her mother again, she was sad because she knew that she had found more than just a friend in Willy Wonka, she had also found a surrogate father. He had listened to her as she talked about her hopes and dreams.

At the same instant, the teenager discovered that there was something unique about his manner that made her feel as though they were kindred spirits. What she knew that bonded them together was an intense love of foreign languages as well as literary quotations. Somehow this made the artist in her smile.

A light tapping suddenly brought her out of her reverie and she grabbed the robe from the closet before putting it on and tying it securely around her waist. She walked over to the door and opened it.

Standing on the other side was Willy, the chocolatier's blue eyes meeting her own. "So, this is the big day, isn't it?"

"I guess," she turned away from the door and started to walk over to the table.

He followed her and when he reached where she was standing, he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Are you afraid? I mean; you know it's perfectly alright to be afraid."

"I know, you said that three days ago when we got the ticket," she said weakly. "But, Mr. Wonka, I'm still scared. It's been over two years since I left. Mum probably thinks I'm dead."

"No, I don't think so," he said as he shook his head. "Clara said that most parents have an instinct about their kids. Somehow they know that their child is alright even when they don't know where that child is."

"Maybe, but I don't know if she will want to see me," Jasmine said. "When I left, I told her that I would come back successful."

"You are successful," he said firmly. "Jasmine, you survived two years on the streets, that's a success when you consider how many kids die out there."

"I probably would have, had it not been for you," she whispered. "I don't know if you know this, but you saved my life. I had given up on everything."

"Well, when I stop and consider what you're going to do with your life, Jasmine, I can only say that it was a life well worth saving. You deserve to see the beauty in the world, not just the heartache and pain. You merit friends and not just isolation. You remember, I spent many years alone, and what did it get me? Nothing except perhaps extensive one-sided conversations," he chuckled despite himself.

Jasmine bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing. When she recovered, she looked at him. "I think you're very wise, Mr. Wonka."

"It takes a wise person to say that because you acknowledge it in yourself each time you acknowledge it in others," he smiled. "Now, there is something that I have to ask of you before you leave today."

"Anything," she said.

"When you leave here today, would you take the awareness with you that you could always come back if ever you needed to?" He asked.

"I could?" she asked as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"Of course you can, we're friends, aren't we?" He said smiling. "You said I saved your life, but you also saved a part of my life."

"I did?" She asked.

"Of course, you gave me a part of you with your music. Do you remember the day when we were in the Inventing Room and you started singing?" When she nodded, he continued. "The impact you leave, lies in the music that you share with others. Never doubt that, Jasmine. Sometimes when it feels as though no one is listening or even cares, you discover that they do, and very much so."

"I'm so glad I met you," she said sniffing.

"I'm glad I met you too," he said. "So, will you come back to visit after you get everything settled at home?"

She nodded. "I promise."

"Good, then we should be heading out, your train will leave in about two hours and you still need to get changed." He stopped speaking as he stood up and started walking towards the door.

Jasmine watched as he left the room and once the door closed behind him, she smiled. Instead of immediately getting dressed, she went over to the table and sat down. Reaching for the journal, she flipped through to the first empty page. Grabbing the pen that was placed next to the notebook, she pulled off the lid and began to write, her thoughts meshed with the happy tears that were streaming down her cheeks.

The words that soon graced the page leapt out at her once she had finished writing.

* * *

_I may not remember everything about the factory, but I will always hold on to the inspiration that enfolded me while within the boundary of its walls. I know that one day I will fulfill my own dreams…_

_I may see the void in my everyday existence once I leave this place, but I will remember that I can come back anytime I wish. I can return and see this man who has embraced me as though I am his child…_

_I may somehow forget various aspects of this wonderful place, but I could never forget Willy Wonka. He is, by far, the closest thing to a dad that I've ever had…_

* * *

As she stared at these words, she carefully tore the page out from the book, folded it in half, and placed it on the table.

Ten minutes later, she was dressed and ready to leave the room. As she grabbed her coat, she reached for the knapsack, the old broken tape recorder, and the notebook.

At that moment, she turned and left the room.

**Two Hours Later**

The minute Jasmine left the factory, Willy found himself walking down the same corridor, his thoughts literally drifting. He was glad that the child was on her way home, but he knew that he would miss her questions and insight. He found her to be different than Charlie, but also someone whose company had proven unassuming and unique.

A slight smile crossed his face, as he opened the door and walked into the room that Jasmine had occupied during her unexpected visit. He crossed the room only to discover that on the table, a piece of paper rested. He immediately recognized it as being torn from the notebook that the teenager always carried. He approached the table and retrieved it.

As he unfolded it and began to read the handwriting that graced the page, he felt an elated smile turning up his lips.

Throughout her stay, Jasmine had confessed a belief that she did not possess the ability to change the life of another. Of course, she probably did not realize to what extent her words had changed him.

Despite the bitter-sweetness of the teenager's words Willy Wonka knew that he would never be the same person as the one he had been before their unexpected meeting.

He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Perhaps it was true what Charlie, his mother, grandparents, and the Oompa Loompas had often told him about sometimes journeying beyond the confines of the factory. Maybe the reclusive chocolatier should cease being so withdrawn.

His eyes stared down at Jasmine's words for several moments until he found himself nodding. He tucked the small piece of paper carefully in the pocket of his waistcoat before turning and slowly leaving the room.

The End.


End file.
